


Another habit like you

by airafleeza



Series: Let the ashes fly [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bisexual Gabriel Reyes, Character Study, Divorce, Emotional Constipation, Engagement, Fluff and Angst, Fraternization, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel Reyes is a nerd pass it on, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, It's not like Gabriel likes you or anything Jack jeez, Jack Morrison is not neurotypical, Kiss Disasters, Lovers To Enemies, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Omnic Crisis, Post-Omnic Crisis, Post-Recall, Pre-Omnic Crisis, Pre-Relationship, Prior Relationships mentioned, Relationship Study, Rutting, SEP Days, Separations, Sharing a Bed, Smoking, Social Anxiety, They never stopped caring they just stopped talking, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-01-13 03:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18460217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airafleeza/pseuds/airafleeza
Summary: Jack knows bad habits.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god. This fic has been in my head for over a YEAR, and I never knew what to do with it until [2019 R76 week](http://reaper-76-week.tumblr.com/) came around. While this wasn't written completely during the fan event, the prompts really helped guide my writing and I'm so grateful to the event coordinators for the inspiration. <3
> 
> The title is taken from the absolutely gORGEOUS Karen O song, ["Rapt"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTvqMfvVWYQ), from her utterly amazing album _Crush_. There's a song there for every OTP, s2g. 
> 
> This fic is completely finished and will be posted in its entirely within the next few weeks. These are my own personal headcanons and preferences, so I hope others can enjoy them as well! You can definitely read this as a standalone, but I consider my other fic, What you do to me, to be in the same universe. If you like sad dads being less sad with more sag, check it out after and pretend it's a retirement epilogue!
> 
> I would like to thank the wonderful [Ari](http://ignisgayentia.tumblr.com/) for all their support, encouragement, and porn-writing skillz. Also, the talented and enigmatic [Crook](https://twitter.com/strangefingers) for their beta-ing and glorious Google doc comments. Jannet, as always, you are my rock and inspiration. Thank you for dealing with me during these trying times.
> 
> My buds, enjoy!!!

Within the first few seconds of their meeting, Officer Reyes must have decided to make the lives of everyone in his squadron hell. There was no hesitation when he singled Jack out during drills, putting him up as an example more times than not in front of their team. However, it wasn’t until Jack’s bunkmate asked if they had worked together before that it was brought to his attention Officer Reyes did, in fact, treat him differently from the rest.

“Seriously, man, what did you do?” his roomate—Wiant—sighs, shaking her head. “He looks at you like you pissed in his cornflakes or something.” 

“Doesn’t he look at everyone like that?” Jack asks sincerely. It isn’t supposed to be a joke, but she laughs anyway.

“Nope, just you, Morrison. You seriously haven’t noticed?” She jumps down from her bed and stretches, heading towards the door. On her way out, she gives him a hearty slap on the back and he swears she whispers “ _men_ ” under her breath before she goes. Jack watches her, dumbfounded.

It’s Tuesday, which means she and everyone else are heading to the rec room for card night. Everyone, that is, besides Jack. She’d already invited him to come along, of course, but he declined. Keeping to himself is starting to become routine—most of his peers have given up since his answer is always a polite _thanks, but no thanks_. Minutes after Wiant is gone, Jack still stares at the door, at a loss.

Just like that, everything makes sense. No one else is being jerked around so mercilessly—Officer Reyes is by no means a forgiving man, but the day he makes Jack run laps long after everyone else has been dismissed because _his form was off_ is his breaking point. Reyes hasn’t told him he can stop, despite the fact the last call for dinner will be soon and his shoes are full of water and mud. His shirt clings to him, uncomfortable and heavy with rain. Meanwhile, from a short distance away, Reyes watches him from the safety of a covered platform. His arms are crossed, expression unreadable from the shadows. Jack is willing to bet a week’s worth of bacon from the mess that he’s frowning. It’s impossible to picture anything else. 

Jack slows, jogging in place as he shouts. “Aren’t you going to eat?” 

Reyes crosses his arms. “Aren’t you supposed to be running, soldier?” He jerks his chin as if to say _keep going_. Jack does.

Somewhere along lap ten, irritation starts to creep up his spine. He’s cold and hungry, and while he typically aims to be a good subordinate, Jack has to draw the line. He’s out here alone with a man who hates him for no known reason. He almost wishes his roommate hadn’t pointed it out because now that’s it’s made itself obvious, Jack can’t just ignore it. Whether Reyes likes him or not is the least of his concerns, but if the man has beef with him, Jack has the right to know why.

This time as Jack stops, Reyes tilts his head curiously. “Had enough?”

Jack grits his teeth. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Reyes sounds unimpressed, maybe even disappointed in him. He can’t be—not with all the extra work Jack is doing, how fast he’s excelling. The hours of getting his ass whupped by the larger man have started to take effect. Jack’s hand-to-hand has improved immensely, managing a few blocks and hits of his own. He’s on his feet more times than not, keeps his head cool, hesitates less and thinks more. His gangly farm-boy arms are honing their strength, muscles developing with purpose. For that, he is grateful.

But.

“Yeah,” Jack says the words as they come to mind, “I have.”

With that response, Reyes is approaching him. He’s no longer in his uniform and has changed into a hoodie and sweats, which Jack eyes with envy. Not for long, however, as the other man is soon in his face. He’s so used to all the snarling and yelling that comes with serving in the military that Jack just watches, immune and not really listening as he gets laid into for the millionth time today. Reyes used to intimidate him a little when they first met, but fear turned into admiration as he watched and worked under Reyes in the following months. And Reyes isn’t always like this—on card game nights, Jack has seen him with the rest of the group, dropping formalities and animatedly talking with the others and volunteering bits of personal information. The man has a wife and kid, for God’s sakes. Any person whose face lights up like his does when he talks about his little girl can’t be all that bad. If some of the overheard conversations were anything to go off of, a lot of his fellow soldier don’t actually mind Reyes. He’s a tough son of a bitch, they’d say, but a good man. Jack’s instincts seemed to agree with them, which made it difficult to really hate the guy.

Suddenly, someone is grabbing him by the collar, and before Jack can stop himself, he takes their arm and twists it back. By the time he realizes he’s staring at the back of Reyes’ head, he’s pouring out the apologies and fumbling over himself as he quickly releases his grasp.

“Oh shit, sir. Sorry, I—” Reyes doesn’t give him a chance to finish or explain. He’s hauling Jack over his shoulder and slamming him onto his back, knocking the wind out of him as his body squelches into the wet earth. He gasps for air, vaguely aware that Reyes is now kneeling into the mud, gloating.

A beat passes. The burning in his chest fades from all-encompassing to uncomfortable, Reyes’ expression never wavering as he watches Jack choke.

Jack doesn’t think. He punches. 

Shock, more than pain, crosses Reyes’ face as Jack continues to try to catch his own breath, one hand on his sternum as he props himself up. He’s expecting retaliation, he’s expecting to have his ass handed to him, but eventually Reyes just sort of… sits down and joins him in muddy commiseration.

“Not bad,” he comments. His nose doesn’t look right as it bleeds, turning Reyes’ smile red. “How’s the wrist?”

As if on cue, Jack’s wrist starts to throb. He shakes out his hand, letting out a soft “shit.” It’ll be worse in the morning, and Jack isn’t looking forward to it. When Reyes notices his frown, he makes a clicking sound of disapproval.

“Are you still not paying attention to any fucking thing I’ve said, Morrison?” He’s scratching his head, then cups his neck with a groan. “Why do you think we have sparring practice? It’s not a free period for you to just fuck around in. You need to keep your fucking wrist straigh—”

“Is that it? I’m a bad soldier?” Jack steels his glare, well aware he’s interrupting a more-often-than-not volatile superior. Reyes presses his lips together into a fine line. Jack expects another reprimand, hell, maybe even a discharge for attacking a superior. Instead, Reyes looks away. The neutral line of his bloody lips turns into a grimace and it’s a long time before he swiftly turns to face Jack again. He doesn’t look pleased at all, but there is a unexpected determination in his eyes.

“No, you’re a fine soldier,” Reyes tells him, slow and thoughtful. It doesn’t sound like a compliment the way he says it. “Good enough that we’re about to put you through hell and expect you to come back.”

Jack blinks. “What do you mean?”

“C’mon Morrison, you’re dense but not stupid.” Reyes gestures to the barracks around them, as if that’s some sort of clue. For him, it isn’t.

“Then explain it to me like I am.”

Reyes is quiet for awhile after he sighs, rubbing his eyes. His hands are dirty, leaving remnants of mud on his face. Immediately after, Reyes seems to remember this and appears to regret the action. For a split second, his nose scrunches in disgust.

Jack has all but given up on getting a real answer out of his commanding officer when he says, “something’s coming.” Spoken like it’s a secret. It must be, because Jack has heard nothing to suggest this. The world is continuing on as usual. There’s no trace that the sky is falling down.

“It has been for awhile. It’s classified, but understand there are people looking at soldiers like you and me. Sooner than you think, someone is going to approach you and ask you an important question. And I want to prepare you for the repercussions of your answer since I’m the one responsible for putting you on the short list.”

Jack squints. Why in the world would Reyes recommend him for anything? Toilet duty, maybe. But something important enough to be classified? Jack doesn't believe it.

“You think I’m going to say yes?”

“Of course you are.” Reyes shrugs. “I know what men like you are willing to do. I know sometimes it gets them killed.” He stands up and Jack half expects him to offer a hand up. He stops for a moment like he might. In the end, Reyes does no such thing. “I’d like to avoid that.”

Jack get to his knees as Reyes makes his exit. It’s probably obvious he was dismissed, but Jack wants to press his luck anyway.

“Reyes!”

The other man turns around, the light of the door illuminating his outline. His nose has stopped bleeding, the rain having washed the majority of it away. Only faint traces remain near his nostrils and at the corners of his mouth. It strikes him then that Officer Reyes’ facial hair is certainly not army-regulation, that co-ed habitation is usually not permitted, and that this base is larger than any he has been to before. For the first time in years Jack wonders what he’s about to get himself into.

“What are men like you willing to do?” He’s almost afraid of the answer.

Reyes grins—it’s sharp and unkind. He leaves without a word, a self-deprecating sound echoing before the door shuts behind him. It isn’t a laugh. It probably is meant to be.

After a round of questioning from his peers about where he’s been and why he and Reyes look like they’d had a field day in the mud, Jack showers. He rubs his eyes, dragging his hands down his face after. Men like him, huh? So Reyes thinks he has him all figured out? Jack wouldn’t be surprised if he did—he wasn’t known to be all that complicated, but now Jack wants to prove the bastard wrong and show that he wasn’t some sort of simpleton.

Towelling his hair as he steps into his bunk, Jack’s stomach growls. He can ponder Reyes’ logic of being an ass to someone in order to bolster self-improvement later—now he just wants to see if there’s anything left to eat. He’s tugging on a sweatshirt when he notices a tray with a metal lid on the floor next to his bed. Underneath the lid is something that resembles dinner—no doubt from the mess. He pokes the dinner roll, hard as a rock, and is grateful nonetheless. He's quick to dig in, the note tucked half under the plate nearly missed. It reads “Come to cards—R,” and the sense everything is about to change finally swallows Jack whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!! For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd we're back!!! 
> 
> Wowza!!!! Friends, thank you for leaving comments and kudos. It's so delightful and encouraging! I'm pretty shy when it comes to sharing my writing on the interwebz. The feedback is deeply appreciated!!!!!
> 
> Enjoy!!

The following week Jack tries card night and, as predicted, hates it. Too many people, too much small talk. He’s quiet more often than not, increasingly aware of how little he speaks and hopes no one else notices.

It’s frustrating how Jack can act under pressure of any kind, but the moment you put him in a room of strangers and ask him to make friends, his anxious mind goes into overdrive. No one has ever accused him of poor teamwork skills, and striking up conversations with individuals comes easy for him. Hell, in high school, he had plenty of friends. It isn’t as if Jack wants to be alone. But situations where he’s expected to make others like him raises the question of “at what cost?”.  Before he can weigh his options, Reyes stands up and asks to have a word in private. When Jack leaves with him, Reyes just waves him off in the hallway and bids goodnight, shoulders hunched as he turns in the opposite direction. 

It becomes routine for Jack to show up to any social gathering, only to be called away after staying for half an hour or so. They go their separate ways, until one week Jack notices Reyes heading in a different direction. Puzzled, Jack asks where he’s going and Reyes explains he picked the short straw and is on cleaning duty in the gym. Offering his assistance feels like the only decent thing to do. Reyes agrees with him and doesn’t sound grateful in the slightest.

Weeks pass. Reyes actively volunteers for cleaning duty on Tuesdays while everyone is playing for packs of gum. The quiet between them while scrubbing the floor is comfortable: Jack only makes a few comments and observations, and Reyes appears to be fine with it—going so far as to say Jack is the perfect guy to watch movies with. Eventually, they do just that. Between the two of them, it only takes an hour or so to wipe everything down and do the floors anyway. By that point, the card game is still going on strong and Reyes mentions that they “might as well” hang out. Despite the nonchalance, Jack’s gut tells him Reyes is a lonely man. But this isn’t why he takes him up on his offer.

The fact that Reyes’ favorite movies are all loaded up on a small shitty portable holovid he’s had since college intrigues Jack. He doesn’t mind that more times than not it craps out on them—leading to dramatic retellings by his commanding officer, who is more than willing to fill in the blanks. Having not been one for movies, Jack worries he’s become spoiled by Reyes’ entertaining antics, like his ability to talk for the entire length of a movie and inability to stand anyone else making a peep. Once he gets used to it, Jack doubts he’ll ever be able to watch a film on his own without missing Reyes’ muttered intelligent commentary in his ear, how he warns Jack to pay attention before his favorite scenes come up.

During this period, “Reyes” turns into “Gabriel” for that one day out of the week. It’s strange at first until he realizes he has come to think of Gabriel as a friend, though Jack doubts the feeling is mutual. “Reyes” runs drills until they’re ragged, joins them without breaking a sweat, and appears to enjoy rubbing his superiority in their sweaty faces. The special treatment of being made to suffer is no longer Jack’s alone, and if anything, Jack feels less like an individual and more like a unit. Other soldiers join Jack in facing Officer Reyes’ wrath, meaning more candidates short listed for whatever Gabriel is recruiting for. It serves as a good reminder: Gabriel is here on the behalf of the U.S. government and isn’t their friend.

As confirmation for his theory, Gabriel disappears for a few days without a word. The officer temporarily responsible for their squadron lets slip Gabriel’s request for a weekend leave was approved. Jack refuses to miss him. Screw Gabriel for not having the decency to say _goodbye_ or _see you later_. Everything resumes as it normally does by the time Gabriel returns and Tuesday comes around.

“Question.”

Gabriel curls forward, pausing the holovid propped against his thighs. Must be something important coming up if he doesn’t want Jack to miss it.

“Shoot.”

“This isn’t part of your job description.”

“And that’s not a question, Morrison.”

“No, but it makes me wonder why the ruse.”

“Well, for one thing, you were about to leap out of your own damn skin, Indy.” At Jack’s sour expression, Gabriel throws his head back to laugh, clasping his shoulder and knowing full and well that Jack is the only person in their unit who hates the nickname Wiant gave him. A retaliatory shove from Jack nearly topples Gabriel off the edge of the bed. “What? It was the least I could do.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jack grumbles, swatting Gabriel’s hand away.

Gabriel shrugs and boy, if that doesn’t get under his skin. “Maybe. But someday someone else might have to. That’s where camaraderie comes in. And teambuilding—” He points at Jack’s backside. “—equals ass saved.”

The worst part is Gabriel has a point. Everyone in their unit is on a first name basis with Jack now, a sort of solidarity built on commiseration. The morning after a game, more often than not, someone nudges Jack and asks, “hey, how was old hardass?” or “we missed you last night” before discussing how shitty breakfast is going to be that morning. This is more than what he had before and it’s nice, but any chance of Jack admitting he’s wrong dissipates in the face of Gabriel’s haughty grin and ego.

Instead of telling him what he wants to hear, Jack leans back. “So, you’re willing to make yourself out to be the bad guy?”

“What, like it’s hard?”

The bitter reply is punctuated by Gabriel and his huffed laughter. This isn’t a reaction Jack expects, and he isn’t going to hold his breath waiting for Gabriel to come out with an explanation: Jack has met locks that were more accessible than Gabriel Reyes. What he shares is calculated and vague, just sufficient to fool someone into thinking there’s intimacy, but in reality it was nothing of real value. He has a family, but doesn’t give names or share pictures. He is from L.A., but never talks about his life growing up. Hell, it took nearly three months for Jack to learn his first name. Just when Jack is about to accept Gabriel isn’t going to impart further details, Gabriel surprises him by confessing his wife wants a divorce.

The two met in the army, Gabriel explains, with Gabriel four years her senior. Valencia “Val” Solares Rosas and Gabriel Reyes started their friendship out of spite because one cadet commented he didn’t like the only two persons of color in their unit speaking in a language he didn’t understand. And while this didn’t save Gabriel from getting his ass kicked during their sparring sessions, eventually the two genuinely cared for one another—despite how he teased and complained about her Spaniard lisp.

Gabriel respected her strength—he’d never seen a woman fight so hard to be in a place where no one thought she belonged. _Too soft_ , their cohorts used to taunt. That’s where they were wrong: Val was kind, not soft, and actively worked to be so even when it was difficult. Fighting side-by-side and with each other taught him this. He had seen the woman cry over children lost to brutality, hold a fellow soldier’s hand as they passed, and then promptly walk miles to the next base on a broken ankle without compliant. War hardened most people, made them numb, but not Val. She shared her fears with Gabriel once she could trust him not to think less of her, and while his bulk and demeanor intimidated his squadmates and may have aided in his promotion to sergeant, Val, in all her 5’3” glory, always told him when he was wrong without fail.

The day they ended an argument with Val kissing him stupid, Gabriel never wanted to be right again. The marriage was rushed, to his dismay, but necessary to make sure they would be stationed together. Val finished her tour and left, too human for this line of work, and Gabriel considered doing the same a few years down the road.

In his mind, Gabriel pictured buying a cheap house in California, finishing college on the government’s dime, and no longer living as a lost boy. He’d found the love of his life, after all, and the incentive to leave the violence behind him became more appealing once Val got pregnant with Laura Ofélia.

In the end, Gabriel would never get to have this. The flourish in his tone dies and is replaced with self-reproach. The moment he was saluted by his captain and several strangers in suits, all their plans for a life together were forgotten. It was his best chance, he used to think, to protect what was his—despite Val’s protests. Leaving this future behind, Gabriel was given a unit of some of the nation’s most promising young officers and was instructed to carry on in a secluded midwestern base.

In retrospect, the hints of irreparable damage had been there all along. Val told him not to go, and when Gabriel tried to win her over with his reasons, she spent the rest of his leave ignoring him. The last thing she said to his face was she wanted a partner, not someone to take care of her. Over the phone it was easy to keep her in the dark and maintain two different lives. Val had to tell him he was lying to himself, that they weren’t okay.

“I’ll always—” Gabriel cuts himself off, voice gruff. Jack is intrigued, but Gabriel’s face is already twisted and turned away. It’s the most he’s ever heard Gabriel share, and if his expression is any indicator, he clearly regrets saying anything in the first place. The strong desire to take back the last few minutes hangs over the two until Jack remembers—Gabriel is a deliberate man with the most tactical mind he has ever met. Whatever Gabriel tells him is because he wants someone to know. If Jack is at the right place and time to be that someone, so be it.

The prospect of taking Gabriel’s hand should make him second guess himself. Gabriel could reject not just Jack’s comfort, but all of him—their movie nights would cease and Gabriel would revert back to being just “Reyes.” Somehow, none of this crosses his mind until hours later. Right now, Gabriel is next to him. Sure, he’s staring at Jack like he’s grown another head and can breathe underwater, but he stays. They continue to sit until the screen turns blue, Jack’s thumb massaging the scars on the top of Gabriel’s hand mindlessly. A few times, Gabriel’s eyes dart towards their linked hands. Nothing is said as Jack stares at his own feet, realizing that Captain Gabriel Reyes is only the third man he’s ever held hands with. There was the boy who first made him realize he was gay, and then there was Vincent.

“Even if you can’t be with them… the reasons you made the choices you did never changed,” Jack reminds himself aloud, but Gabriel reacts as well. His fingers tighten, squeezing Jack’s hand in return. He looks at Gabriel, who only nods when asks, “You don’t regret a thing, do you, Gabe?”

“I wish I hadn’t hurt her,” Gabriel admits in a rough voice, free hand rubbing his face. It sounds like he hasn’t spoken in a long time instead of just a few minutes. “I know... loving me isn’t easy. But if I can do anything—anything—to make a difference…”

“Me too.” Jack knows how that thought ends, knows it like how he knew in that moment exactly he would say yes to whatever Gabriel’s superiors want to ask him. If it means helping Gabriel Reyes save the people he loves, Jack will follow blind. For now, he gives Gabriel’s hand a final pat and moves over to press play. A “thanks” is exchanged and Jack hums an acknowledgement.

Two weeks later, Gabriel’s’ paranoia and Jack’s gut feeling end up being right on the mark. To most it’s a strange fluke when the first omnium wakes up without prompting. It’s one omnium after another until the chaos gains ample momentum to propel the world into an all-out war. On the day the Omnics officially declare war and they find themselves alone, Gabriel yanks out his phone. Jack shouldn’t be surprised that whatever clearance was granted to Gabriel also permits him to have a personal communication device.

Gabriel types quickly and beams. The lines of concentration in his forehead don’t completely soften, but this is not the kind of expression Jack is used to. He’s come to expect Gabriel’s smirk when something sadistic is about to befall his team, like extra reps. The way he’s smiling now doesn’t make Jack nervous like Gabriel usually does.

“Hey. Want to see something?”

They’re in the equipment room, Gabriel perched on a stack of clean mats while Jack finishes cleaning his portion. The question catches him off-guard.

“It’s not pornography, right?”

“Jesus, Morrison!” Gabriel hops off, sputtering. “What in—you know what, I don’t want to know.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” Jack shrugs and goes back to work. It occurs to him Gabriel might not know he’s gay and therefore not interested in any salacious material he may or may not have. “It’s fine if you like—”

“It’s a picture of my girls.” He clears his throat. “Er, Val. And my girl. It's Val and Laura. She sent a picture.”

Jack doesn’t know what to say other than a stunned “uh, sure?” and then Gabriel’s phone is in his hand. The woman and child on the screen are both in their pajamas with Laura in Val’s lap, trying to reach up and touch the screen. There’s a trace of humor on Val’s face as she turns her attention from the camera, caught freeze frame as she speaks to her child. Both have the same dark hair, with Val’s pulled into a messy ponytail and Laura’s in several smaller ones. The shape of their faces are similar—circular with big cheeks. The illumination of Val’s phone lights up Laura’s eyes, revealing them as deep hazel. Val’s lips are full, her mouth large with bright square teeth. A compact and sturdy woman, and Gabriel looks so ridiculously proud and enamoured that Jack is inclined to pat him on the shoulder for some reason, as if he was saying “congratulations.” The separation must not be too ugly if Val is sending pictures.

“She’s beautiful, man.” Carefully he passes back the phone. “Both of them.”

“I know.” This sobers Gabriel up a bit, his manner more conservative now. “God, Morrison. I’m a lucky man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Jannet, who helped me write and create Val Reyes Solares. <3 As they say—write what you know, and I'm as white as they come. Thank you, bird. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!! For anyone interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUCKLE IN KIDS, WE'RE ABOUT TO EARN THAT MATURE RATING
> 
> Also, warning for secondhand embarrassment. These men? They are disaster men. Never forget.

As part of his promotion to commander during the Crisis, Gabriel earns his own squad of elite soldiers with Jack serving as his SIC—something the UN most likely would not have allowed if they’d known the two started sleeping together halfway through SEP a couple years ago. According to Gabriel, no one would be surprised about their relationship. Accusations of fraternization started before the separation with Val. Somehow Jack had failed to catch wind of the gossip and takes offense on Gabriel’s behalf.

—though “relationship” suggests something else—a better word for it would probably be ”arrangement”. Friends, but with added benefits. It was Jack who started it by offering to suck Gabriel off in the shower after knocking him down one too many times on the mat. He was unable to ignore how the tension left Gabriel’s body when he was pinned, how hard he got underneath him. Immediately after coming, Gabriel reminded Jack that he wasn’t gay. Jack was no stranger to this line: he’d heard it before from previous one-night stands and from the boys he used to fool around with in backseats before he met Vincent. It was a shield, he learned, that some men used to keep him at arm's length and remind him he meant nothing. Jack tried to back off before he could make things worse, but Gabriel wouldn’t let him. Apparently, coming from Gabriel, “I’m not gay” meant something else entirely. He hasn’t shied away from reciprocating since.

In that moment Jack had wanted more—he was horny, the cocktail of drugs in his system messing with his libido, and thought it would just be sex. He didn’t plan for it to happen again. Unfortunately, the more they fucked around, the clearer it became that sex wasn’t the “more” he was craving. Turns out he just wanted Gabriel. More of him. All of him. Lazy mornings and Gabriel’s bickering, day trips to the ren fair in Santa Fe and to meet Jack’s childhood dogs. 

The arrangement they have needs to be enough. It’s good and Jack knows it won’t last. Eventually it’ll end. He knew this the moment he took things too far.

Every day his once-harmless crush on his superior officer grows, a live and consuming thing in his chest. He can’t do anything about it, not now. Not when there’s so much blood on his hands, waiting under his eyelids to scare him out of sleeping. Besides, as far as Jack sees it, they are both dead men walking. Even now, cleaning up after another night of sneaking into Gabriel’s room, Jack wonders if that’s the whole truth. Is it worse to lose Gabriel because he can’t keep his shit on lockdown, or is knowing what it’s like to love him only to have him die the worst thing that could happen? Jack groans, splashing water on his face. It’s late, he shouldn’t be trying to figure out if he’s practical or just afraid right now. He’s tired and sore and all the tension that Gabriel worked out of his muscles earlier is back again. Rolling his shoulders, his gaze trails down—down his chest and stomach, past his hips. And Jesus—his hips.

The finger-shaped bruises won’t be there in the morning. The fact they’ve lasted more than five minutes is impressive. Jack smirks at this until it hits him—Gabriel is untethered and will walk away someday. He will finally go where Jack can’t follow him—whether it’s the Omnics taking him or the inevitable reassignment to come if they survive the war. He will lose Gabriel to someone or something else. SEP took out more than half of its participants. Not only did he and Jack make it, but Jack also ended up in Gabriel’s unit with Overwatch. No one maintains such luck forever. A day will come where Gabriel will press these bruises into another person’s hips while they fuck, and Jack will be none the wiser—if he’s alive, that is.

If what Gabriel thinks is true, an end is in sight. Acquiring the expertise of Torbjörn Lindholm has helped expedite the process of destroying the omniums. While the Omnics are able to adapt, it’s of little use against the man responsible for their creation. The real world—not this strange and violent one Jack has been living in for the last few years—is looming and threatening to break the rhythm war has established: the plateau of respite and strategy broken up by spikes of gunfire and reckless rendezvouses with Gabriel all over the globe. The real world is waiting and vast, and Jack wants to protect it, but doesn’t know how to be a part of it. When he closes his eyes and imagines five years from now, he doesn’t know where he is.

 _I don’t think I can keep living like this_ , Jack realizes with a start. He has already given up on a normal, restful life—practically a guarantee when he signed the consent forms and NDAs. But, maybe there’s a chance Gabriel will take him up on living an unconventional one. Finally, he knows what’s worse, what he’s really afraid of.

Quickly, he turns off the light in the shared hallway bathroom as he bolts. It’s a small place run by an elderly couple who fed them dinner and promised a filling breakfast. They didn’t speak a lick of English, but Jack studied enough German to understand that they were grateful to help the war efforts, and Reinhardt cheerfully spoke his mother tongue and did not allow anyone a word in edgewise. Gabriel’s room is at the end of a short hall—the best room, the wife told them, for the commander deserving of such pleasantries. Halfway there, Jack realizes he’s not wearing socks and water is dripping down his face. His t-shirt is still bundled up on the bathroom floor behind him.

Everything catches up to Jack then and he slows, wondering for a brief moment _what the fuck am I doing?_ until the person he wants to see steps out of his room and spots him. Gabriel grins and heads over. He has a pack of cigarettes in his hand—apparently part of his ritual of smoking after getting laid. A bad habit, Jack recently discovered. Jack doesn’t berate him this time—far too distracted by Gabriel.

“Miss me already?”

There’s a glow about him after sex, and maybe it’s the lighting in the hall, but now the sweaty sheen on his dark skin is more pronounced. Jack’s jaw drops a little and he can’t even stammer out a response. Gabriel is beautiful with a buzz cut, beautiful when his hair is long enough to stick to his sweaty forehead. Hell, Gabriel is even beautiful as he bitches about how the ends are starting to curl and swears he’d rather go bald. Gabriel, whose beard isn’t regulation and therefore is his prized possession, the only part of his person he grooms regularly and obsessively out of sheer spite. Gabriel, in his sweatpants that hang low on his hips and make Jack want. For a second he wonders what Gabriel looks like to other people, the people who don’t know him. It’s hard to imagine not being charmed.

Gabriel elbows him, oblivious. “Wow, didn’t realize I fucked your brains out, too.”

The statement has Jack rolling his eyes, but his distress is obvious enough that Gabriel’s posture changes, instantly at attention. He grabs Jack’s arm and leans in, concern written in the way his forehead creases.

“Jack, what is it?”

There isn’t a way Jack can ever formulate the perfect sentence to express the depth of his affection. Somewhere along the line, he had started to subconsciously operate under the impression there would always be the two of them. He repeatedly tried to pull himself out of this, remind himself it was wishful thinking and no two fates were ever joined so neatly. Jack would die for Gabriel and live for him, and somehow the desire to help Gabriel save the world turned into Jack wanting to save the world _for_ him instead. Gabriel could study film and costume design. He could take care of his parents as they grew older. He could get Val’s blessing for weekend visitation with Laura. _Anything_. Anything in this tremendous life could be Gabriel’s. He belonged somewhere in the world. He was meant to be happy while Jack took over his heavy watch.

He tries to refocus on what Gabriel is saying—or rather, is no longer saying. He’s scared, Jack’s name a question on his lips. Without trouble, Jack could kiss him, he’s so close.

It would be new ground between he and Gabriel. Sure, they're having sex and in the heat of the moment their lips will meet, uncoordinated as they pant into each other’s mouths from the rough physical exertion. They’ve kissed, mechanically and chaste, as if going through the motions while Jack pushed his cock deeper inside Gabriel. But outside of this, Jack hasn't kissed Gabriel or touched him like a lover does in small intimate ways. Years ago, Gabriel's hands were warm and calloused like his as they held hands, and Jack wants to feel them again instead of trying to remember. He wants Gabriel to massage the tension out of his shoulders while they’re naked and in bed. Sometimes Gabriel gets frustrated, and if he could, Jack wants to rest his hand on Gabriel's thigh and remind him he’s there.

Wooing Vincent had been easy. Everything fell into place for them like natural progression. But he's never tested these waters with a friend before. Especially not one as dear to him as Gabriel.

In front of him, Gabriel is the perfect image of fear meets ferocity and exhaustion—apparently not taking well the fact Jack isn’t filling him in on why he was rushing half naked to Gabriel’s room. An exasperated murmur cuts the silence and Gabriel pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s asking “ _what the fuck are you doing Jack”_ and saying “ _you can’t fucking do this it’s the middle of the goddamn night,”_ and doesn’t stop until Jack experimentally cups his jaw, which instantly drops open. He’s never seen Gabriel gets so red so fast. Almost like… he’s shy, but that can’t be right. Their first few times they fucked were disasters at best due to Gabriel’s inexperience, but something should be said about his confidence. The first time he tried to blow Jack, he approached the task with so much false bravado that it was almost like he meant to gag on Jack’s cock. The only reason Jack came was because every time he looked down, it was Gabriel he saw on his knees as Jack sat on the couch—the game left playing in the background, forgotten in favor of other activities.

When they’re alone, Gabriel is free with his body, sure to share his desires—more than willing to place Jack’s hands were he wants them. In a breathless voice he’s whispered what he wants Jack to do to him without a trace of reservation. Jack knows Gabriel loves his mouth best, has told him as much as he filthily grinned down to where Jack was crouched between his legs, cock deep down his throat.

The healing scar on the pad of Jack’s thumb catches on the old diagonal wound across Gabriel’s cheekbone and nose. It’s curious how Gabriel tenses the more Jack leans in, but doesn’t pull away. Jack exhales sharply, knowing he’s on the edge of something and allows himself to hope Gabriel might reciprocate this too.

“Are you listening to me?” Gabriel murmurs, holding Jack's gaze with his dark hazel eyes. Pinned to his sides, Gabriel’s thick fingers pick at his sweatshirt uselessly after fumbling his cigarettes and dropping them.

“Sorry,” Jack says without meaning it. “I was thinking.”

Gabriel’s eyes dart around the hallway, scanning the other doors for any signs of disturbance. Once satisfied, he makes Jack the center of his attention again. He wets his lips. “Yeah? What about?”

“When this is over, take me with you. To LA.”

Gabriel blinks in surprise, chuckling softly. It’s not often that Jack makes any personal requests. He gives Jack a toothy grin. “You realize you won’t be able to leave if my mom adopts you.”

“If that’s the price.” Jack shrugs. “I don’t care.”

Gabriel snorts at his earnestness. His face is hot under Jack’s fingers. “This is awful forward of you, Indy.”

The nickname seals the deal—Jack thinks _he’s saying that just to get a reaction_ and decides to give Gabriel one. Now or never. The distance between them isn’t much and Jack kisses him square on the mouth. It’s highschool all over again, Jack afraid to overstep boundaries. They’ve already done a lot more than kiss, yet there’s an awkward moment where Jack is painfully aware that Gabriel isn’t reacting—they’re just standing still in a narrow hallway. If someone stepped out of their room right at this moment, Jack imagines they might look like two fish with gaping faces. It’s worse than he could have ever dreamed when he opens his eyes to find Gabriel staring at him already. Jack practically jumps back and away, causing Gabriel to chuckle nervously.

Now it’s his turn to be embarrassed. Fair is fair, he supposes.

“Uh. Speaking of forward…” Jack can’t restrain the physical cringe he has in response to his own voice cracking. He clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m on a roll tonight.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Gabriel nods, looking off to the side with his hand on his own cheek.

“Are you, uh. Was that okay?” he blurts.

The shove he receives is answer enough, Jack’s shoulder knocking into the wall. If he’d really crossed a line, Jack suspects he wouldn’t be standing here with a mouth full of teeth.

“ _Christ, no_. Who taught you to kiss, huh? CPR dummies in your medic classes?”

Even with his head completely turned away, Jack can see how Gabriel's hands are childishly covering his own mouth. Jack grins and steps closer, cupping Gabriel’s elbow as he integrates himself into Gabriel’s space once more.

“I'm guessing Val was the one who asked you out first, huh?”

Gabriel kicks him. They momentarily wrestle and jab at each other before Gabriel grumbles, “aw hell, come here” and yanks Jack forward and into his arms, angling his head like he means to kiss him. Suddenly, Jack’s limbs forget how to work, stumbling into Gabriel with arms flopping against his chest in order to brace himself. Their teeth scrape as they slam against Gabriel’s door and stop in horror, looking at the other guest bedrooms. Carefully, Gabriel shushes Jack and tries to reach behind and open his door. To their surprise it’s locked.

“Fuck, we must’ve…” Gabriel is trying to twist away and wrench at the stubborn door knob until Jack experimentally gropes his chest. It works: Gabriel whips around and is confronted with a kiss. He hums pleasantly, trapping Gabriel against the door, which is eventually forgotten in favor of pulling Jack closer, hands at the back of his neck and at the dip of his spine. Gabriel opens his mouth, agonizing and slow to add tongue. An absolute tease, Jack would accuse, if the reverence wasn’t there, if Gabriel’s expression wasn’t one of deep concentration and peace every time Jack snuck a peek.

The barrier his sweatshirt provides is no match for Jack’s wandering hands as he massages the fabric across Gabriel’s chest, Gabriel’s breath hitching when Jack finds his nipple. Gabriel retaliates by palming down his back, plucking the hem of Jack’s boxers. The suggestion makes his cock stir.

Squeezing his neck warmly, Gabriel breaks the kiss but stays close enough that they’re brushing noses, hot breath on each other’s lips.

“We’re locked out,” he finally confesses.

Jack kisses him. “Okay.”

“We can’t get in.”

“Makes sense.” Another kiss.

“Should we…?” Gabriel’s eyes dart to Jack’s door. Jack grins, thrilled at the idea of continuing this elsewhere.

No time is wasted as Jack snatches Gabriel’s hand. In less than thirty seconds Jack is falling back on his bed, gazing up at his commander. It’s smaller than Gabriel’s, but that’s of little consequence when Gabriel climbs on top and settles on his elbows and knees, the hard line of his cock making itself known with every little thrust of his hips as he presses their bodies together. This isn’t new territory, but Jack is discovering a new side to Gabriel; if Jack grabs his ass and holds him steady as he thrusts up roughly, Gabriel gets sloppy—his kisses become wetter as he uses more tongue and less finesse. For the first time, Jack swears he hears a soft choked-off whine from the man above him. He wishes he knew what he did to earn it, cock throbbing at the wordless praise.

“Jack…” Gabriel starts to groan and shudders. He doesn’t hear the end to that thought—Gabriel abruptly snakes his hand down Jack’s waistband, pulling down his sleep pants enough to free his cock and squeeze him so harshly that Jack gasps. His thighs tense and shake, his hips angling up and off the bed as he meets Gabriel’s ministrations, fucking into his tight fist with abandon. He starts to mourn the lack of prep, Gabriel’s fist too dry, until he remembers and stops to pull the unused individual pack of lube from his pocket and throws it at Gabriel. He gives Jack an unimpressed and amused look, shaking his head as he tears the packet open with his teeth and pours the entire thing into his palm.

Jack is gripping the bedposts now, helpless as Gabriel sits back on his heels and thumbs the head of his cock. If Gabriel hadn’t just wasted all the lube, he might ask to be fucked, slow and steady at first, until Gabriel can’t control himself and his thrusts become erratic and hard in his pleasure-seeking. Just thinking about it is almost too much and Jack has to tell Gabriel to stop before he comes. He sighs happily when Gabriel stretches out over him, nipping at Gabriel’s lips until Gabriel gets the hint and remembers to kiss him back. It’s been years since Jack has been able to make-out with someone he liked and goddamn, he’d forgotten how that makes everything that much hotter.

Wedging his hands between their torsos, Jack works at the zipper of the hoodie, exposing Gabriel’s dark marred skin and worshipping it with gentle touches before he resumes his efforts to drive Gabriel wild by grabbing the globes of his ass. Gabriel isn’t in his head—he’s here with him, so it takes a few minutes for Gabriel to catch Jack’s encouragement. Once Gabriel starts rutting against him, violent enough to make the bed frame hit the wall rhythmically, he can’t stop. The friction on his dick, along with Jack’s breathy encouragements to come, finally sends Gabriel to his climax. A pleasant surprise for both of them, as Gabriel hadn’t been able to earlier in the evening. The warm drops of come impressively catch on the curve of Jack’s breast, and Jack wishes he could see what they look like together, with Jack’s legs wrapped around Gabriel’s, fingers digging into the flesh of his back hard enough that there’s blood under Jack’s nails. He wonders if Gabriel can see it, how lovesick he feels and if Gabriel even knows.

Jack is careful not to gasp too loud or sound too needy as he breathes hard and hot, tucked against Gabriel’s neck as Gabriel comes down from his orgasm. The thrusting of his hips subsides and Jack is so close he isn’t willing to wait until Gabriel remembers him as he grips his own cock. Fortunately, Gabriel doesn’t give him a chance. He slaps Jack’s hand away, torturing him with some of the sweetest and slowest kisses of his life as his cock throbs from the neglect. Turns out, if he isn’t ambushed, Gabriel Reyes isn’t a half bad kisser.

When Gabriel holds his face with both hands and gazes down at him like a happy man, Jack can’t complain about not coming, despite his arousal. Gabriel ducks down and murmurs against Jack’s neck, Jack only able to catch the end of it, his pulse roaring in his ears.

“I said, I didn't want to be that guy who thinks his gay friend is into him.” Gabriel’s teeth brush against his pulse and underside of his jaw.

“Gabe,” Jack mutters. “We’ve been having sex for years.”

“So that’s supposed to make it obvious? I just have to assume you like me?”

“Most people like their best friends.”

Gabriel sits up. “I'm your best friend?”

With that, Jack can’t take it anymore. He wraps his arms around Gabriel, bringing their bodies flush against each other in a bear hug.

“What am I going to do with you?” Gabriel asks, fondly. Jack has a few ideas, rolling his hips against the tight body above him. Gabriel admonishes him lightly, words pressed into Jack’s lips. “You know what they say—’it’s not over until you both get your cookies.’”

Any plans of smothering Gabriel for being so damn nerdy and endearing are gone in five seconds. Gabriel strokes Jack’s cock slow and hard, driving Jack so mad he has to bite Gabriel’s shoulder to keep quiet when he finally spills all over Gabriel’s hand.

“You should stay,” Jack tells him, as if there is a doubt in his mind that Gabriel was going anywhere else tonight. They fight to get comfortable, Jack mildly threatening him as he reminds Gabriel his other option is sleeping on the floor or in the hall. In time they compromise by laying half on top of each other.

Waking up is unpleasant, their skin sticky with sweat and other fluids. It’s early enough that they manage to share a shower. Another mistake, as the stall was not meant for two men of their size. Gabriel complains all the way from the bathroom to downstairs about how the shower door kept opening every time one of them shifted, leaving a watery mess that Jack has to clean up.

As promised, the breakfast is nothing to sneeze at. Their hostess is already awake, pulling what looks like fruit rolls from the oven. She’s flushed when she acknowledges them and gestures to an already full table. Luckily Jack remembers enough high school German to tell her thank you and good morning. He eyes what appears to be some sort of fried breaded meat and promptly sits down.

Nearly an hour passes before Ana and Reinhardt venture down, stepping softly—which is impressive for the latter. Gabriel is reviewing the latest data on the whereabouts of the closest omnium and Jack is helping with the dishes when Ana clears her throat.

“You left these in the hallway, Commander.” Ana waits until she has his attention before placing his box of cigarettes next to him. “I thought you might need them.”

“Yeah,” he agrees in a daze. “Thanks, Amari. Ana.”

Gabriel returns his focus to his tablet and misses how she smiles at Jack, utterly rapt in the scene before her. She steps to his side, patting him on the cheek as she passes through the small kitchen. Reinhardt stands in the threshold, looking as if he could cry with joy. Ana presses her palm to his large forearm once she’s standing in front of him. A silent agreement has him following her. Their journey up the creaking stairs is noisier than the descent, but not loud enough to cover the sound of Torbjörn inquiring why they aren’t all downstairs eating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't feel sexual attraction/understand them thirsty drives, so I would like to throw a parade in Ari's honor for helping me with the s3xx sc3n3. Without them beta-ing this... god knows what would have happened.
> 
> In general, if I'm going to write sexy stuff, I aim for making everything awkward and imperfect. Why? Because sex and making out is awkward sometimes. I adore the idea of Jack being so smitten with Gabriel that he can't see what a hot mess his bf is. Sorry to all the _Gabriel "god of sex" Reyes_ fans!!!
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!! For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the shortest chapter of the six--next two updates will make up for it. <3

Three days after Gabriel suggests they go ring shopping, the last omnium is destroyed. It quickly becomes an inside joke amongst the team that if this was the world’s way of giving its blessing, Jack and Gabriel should have gotten engaged sooner.

“If we get hitched, does that mean legally you have to do what I say? Love and obey and all that shit?” Gabriel asks him from his neighboring bed in the hospital room they share. Of course the fighting couldn’t end in a whimper—half of their team had second degree burns from cutting it too close with an explosive distraction meant to give Torbjörn the time necessary to dismantle the omnium from the inside out. Jack could bounce back faster than the others and elected himself to be the one who set the last fuse near the bastions—which meant Gabriel wasn’t too far behind.

“Not a chance, Commander.” Jack smiles and winces. He upsets the stitches across his cheek and Gabriel cackles, as if to say _that’s what you get_ , but the motion jars his ribs and he stops. Karma at its finest.

Gabriel sighs. “What a pair we are.”

“Match made in heaven,” he agrees.

“Or hell, depending on how you look at it,” Ana adds, walking into the room and leaning on the door frame. Instantly Jack perks up. It’s impressive how she can sneak up on them. She’s one of the few who can.

“Anything to report?” Jack asks. Ana raises an eyebrow. The bridge of her nose is still bandaged, the scent of burnt hair less pungent. She looks well, all things considered.

“About what in particular?”

Gabriel shakes his head and tuts. “C’mon, Amari. Don’t tease a broken man.”

Jack’s head whips around to him, about to argue, until Ana speaks, coy and casual. “Oh, so that’s what you meant by news. In that case, yes. They’ll be sending us home in a week’s time.” She hesitates. “There has also been talk about what will become of Overwatch, but nothing official.”

“Anything unofficial, then?” Gabriel presses.

Ana crosses her arms, looking uneasy. “They are not done with us yet, it seems. There is talk of maintaining the organization to oversee the relationship between omnics and humans. To insure that history doesn't repeat itself quite so soon.” She steps forward, closing the door for some semblance of privacy. “The truth is I didn’t come here for pleasantries. I want to share my suspicions before the Under-Secretary-General approaches you two.”

They nod simultaneously. Jack motions for her to take a seat. She declines.

“I won’t be staying long, I’m needed elsewhere.” _Elsewhere_ , she says, with a smile that tells Jack that Fareeha and Sam are somewhere in the base waiting for her. His heart swells—he knows how hard the months away from her young daughter and husband have been. The numerous nights where Jack stayed awake after the others were fast asleep, his content companionship with Ana as she regaled him with stories of her lively and obstinate child, come to mind. Like other soldiers, Ana is one for photographs and getting lost in the image of her small family, looking warm and safe. It’s heartbreaking how all the photos Ana has with her daughter feature a soldier in uniform. Jack hopes that can change. He’s happy for her.

Ana’s tone is sharp when she says his name. Automatically, Jack sits up a little straighter. It does not sound like a promotion when she tells Jack she believes he will be offered a chance to become Strike Commander Morrison of Overwatch. No, from Ana’s mouth it sounds like damnation, and that doesn’t make sense. He studies Gabriel for answers and gains none. Gabriel is pale, face expressionless and jaw firm.

It should be an honor, and Jack finds with sparkling clarity that he wants this. He wants the promotion. He wants purpose and he wants Overwatch to continue to guide them into a golden age. Maybe he can do this one simple thing: find peace.

Whatever’s on his face causes Ana to cast a perfunctory grin in his direction. It doesn’t meet her tired eyes. She takes her leave, saying that the two of them should rest. The moment the door clicks shut, however, Gabriel is interested in anything but.

“You gonna take it?” He’s looking at Jack, bruised cheek pressed to the pillow. Epiphany strikes.

“They should be offering it to you,” he says, suddenly furious. “You got us here, Gabe. None of this would have happened without you. If they ask, I’m going to tell them to—”

“Answer my question.”

The machine next to him beats, increasing in pitch. Somewhere outside their room, a cart is being dragged along the hospital floor with a faulty, squeaking wheel. People are murmuring, just soft and far away enough that it’s indiscernible. Jack wants cover his ears and escape it all, but his cast won’t allow it.

He shrugs, feeling hysteric and at a loss. Gabriel is clearly livid, though apparently not for the reason Jack expects. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Gabriel’s voice drops to something kinder, less like a commander in the field and more like a friend. “Just tell me what you want, Jack.”

“I want to help you save the world.” Out loud it sounds childish. In any other situation, Gabriel might have teased him until realizing Jack meant every word. He is somber instead, looking at the foot of his bed. Moments pass until Gabriel closes his eyes and leans back. When he opens them, it’s to face Jack. He’s smiling in a way that seems to pull all the light in the dim room to him, making Gabriel the only clear thing Jack can see.

“I don’t want to save the world,” he says, slowly. He laughs superficially, making the motion of running his hand anxiously through the hair that is no longer there. During the med evac, they’d shaved sections of his scalp to clean out the shrapnel. No one has bothered to come back and finish the job yet, leaving Gabriel with uneven curly patches. “Just a few people in it.”

In all his years of knowing Gabriel, Jack has never seen him cry. Not when the divorce was finalized or when Jack said “sure” to his proposal. Not when Val sent pictures of Laura’s first day of kindergarten and Gabriel realized he’d missed another milestone. Not when the last omnium fell.

Jack is quick to understand how catastrophic things must be for Gabriel Reyes to break down. There is a storm inside him and he is only human. He shakes from the things he can’t control and his chin quivers as he releases shuddering gasps. Otherwise, he is perfectly quiet, and it’s terrifying. Jack has no choice but to drag himself out of bed, navigating around his cast carefully. It shows how out of it Gabriel is that he doesn’t tell Jack to stay in his own bed. Luckily, besides Gabriel’s ribs, the stitches on his scalp, a few sporadic patches of burns that have yet to heal, and a dislocated knee, Jack has little else to be wary of when he slides into his bed, molding himself with care around Gabriel and rubbing circles into his chest with his good hand. It’s far too small a space for such two men, no bigger than the twin bed in Eichenwalde, but Jack prefers it. The armrests on the sides of the bed help keep them close together as Jack presses his face into the crook of Gabriel’s neck. Not once does Gabriel’s misery cease, and Jack would do anything—anything—to console him.

“That’s it, Jack, that’s it. That’s the kind of man I am.” Gabriel rocks himself back and forth in Jack’s embrace, breath hitching and disjointed. For a moment he forgets Gabriel’s torso is one giant bruise and squeezes him, hoping it’s adequate enough to hold him together. “I’m not like you.”

“You’re a good man.” All these years and Jack realizes he’s never said this outloud. The assumption that Gabriel already knew meant he didn’t have to. He’s seen the way Laura looks at her father, the worship in her eyes. A bad man, a man without a conscience, wouldn’t carry loss like Gabriel did: on his tired shoulders and all alone. “If Overwatch isn’t what you want… you don’t have to finish what you started. But I want to. I want to see this through.”

For Fareeha, for the people he’s left behind. For Gabriel’s family. For a future he wants to build with Gabriel.

It takes about twenty minutes until Gabriel moves—his forearm moving to shield his eyes from Jack. “We’re talking about keeping peace for decades to come. This isn’t a short term commitment. You don’t half-ass things.” He sounds like a wreck. “This will be your entire life.”

Jack takes Gabriel’s hand, pulling his arm down to take a look at him. There’s not a trace of shame or embarrassment in Gabriel, eyes bright and red-rimmed, cheeks wet. It does not take away from the ferocity of his stare, the firm set of his mouth.

“It’s your life too,” Jack reminds him. “If you want it.” He laces their fingers and Gabriel grips back with a crushing force. The glance at their bare, joined hands is enough for Gabriel to get his meaning. “We don’t even know for sure they’ll offer me the position.”

“Guess I got my answer, huh.” There is resignation in his tone, the kind found before a long-resisted and much-needed rest. “Does this make me a trophy husband?”

Jack chuckles. “You sound happy about that.”

“No.” He pulls his hand away, only to rest it on Jack’s cast. Gabriel’s voice shakes with what might be conviction. “I’m just happy for you.” There’s a nagging that settles at the back of Jack’s mind when Gabriel smiles sadly and follows it with an explanation. “I wasn’t planning on asking you like that, you know. I was going to do this one right. I wanted to wait and meet your folks. Take you out to dinner or something. Stay at a nice hotel with room service. We haven’t been able to do stuff like that, have we?”

“I’ve never done that. Period,” Jack admits. In theory he knew Gabriel could be thoughtful and romantic based off what he’s heard about anniversaries with Val. Homemade dinners and candles, rose petals and other absolutely over-the-top cliches usually contrived in film. There will be time to thrive and love another completely, to create and not destroy. Jack secretly promises as much. To love and cherish, to take care of Gabriel and live out their days.

Over the next silent hour, Gabriel’s hand slips away, its owner appearing to have succumbed to uneasy sleep. Jack watches the rise and fall of his chest until something in the horizon catches his eye and he looks out the window. Thick smoke rises from the other wing of the hospital and behind it, the sky is blood red and stagnant. There are no screams like Jack has come to anticipate. For once, everything stands still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :((
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!! For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done, folks!!! Thank you so much to everyone who is reading, commenting, and just interacting w this work in general. It makes me excited about my next fic!!!
> 
> I'm planning on having the final chapter up on Monday. <3

How Gabriel holds his cigarette is eye-catching. Jack tracks it, slotted naturally between two thick fingers as Gabriel lifts it to his lips, takes a long and uninterrupted drag, and blows.

Originally smoking was a thing to do after sex during wartime. There was a dark inside joke amongst them about adding another bullet to a gun, saying they might as well be playing Russian roulette with the odds they were facing against the God program. It had been a bad day—Reinhardt’s arm was nearly torn from his socket and half of an additional squadron was lost under Gabriel’s directive. They may have won the fight, but Gabriel looked like he couldn’t stand his own skin when no one was watching—except Jack, that is. Hopeless Jack with eyes only for his commander.

The joke stopped being funny after the Crisis for the same reason Gabriel quit cold turkey.

“Didn’t your grandma die from lung cancer?”

Internally, Jack winces. Whether it’s due to conflicting schedules, lack of free time, or the inability to get along anymore—they don’t talk.

For the first few years of being married to the Strike Commander, Gabriel was patient and forgiving, more so than Jack thinks he deserved. Neither were cut out for politics, but by sheer will Jack made it through every day, steady as a stone and came home to Gabriel every night. The young strike commander was ambitious, thinking honesty and good intentions were enough. Turns out they weren’t.

Around the time Petras and the Under-Secretary-General convinced him a black-ops division was a necessary evil, Jack was drowning. He thought it would get better; it took days to convince Gabriel to take on the Blackwatch. He’d wanted to retire while Jack wanted someone he could trust. Back then, it was him or no one else. That mixture of guilt and love is what won Gabriel over. To the best of his ability, Gabriel tried to take care of him as much as Jack’s pride would allow. Even then Jack barely kept himself afloat of what the people expected of him, and still Jack strived to surpass those expectations.

“You’ve got me,” Gabriel would say on the bad days, so Jack used him. In his rare graceful moments he could admit having an eye on his six kept him persistent and allowed him to be fearless like he used to be. As his vantage point shifted from what was in front of him to out past the skyline, Jack lost sight of Gabriel. Or Gabriel lost Jack. One can only be shoved away so many times, and Jack did plenty of his share.

Jack misplaced his ring, Gabriel stopped wearing his. Gabriel wanted to talk about their relationship, as if the world wasn’t bearing down on Jack. World peace felt less daunting than fixing his marriage. Jack started sleeping in his office. Gabriel moved out. Like the all-consuming affection that snuck up on him in the first place, Jack failed to notice until too late and all traces of Gabriel were packed away.

They’d tried to be civil about it, like one should be with gradual, inevitable things. Instead of acceptance, however, he handled it poorly—confrontational more times than not. He did most of the yelling when he called Gabriel into his office to discuss intel and unsatisfactory reports. Gabriel, to his surprise, didn’t fight back like he used to. He’d had more to say in the years leading up to their unofficial separation, and the quiet Jack faced now was unsettling and lonely. Gabriel, the Gabriel he knew, had been a force—persistent and difficult to ignore. Gabriel had fought for everything he had ever had, and in the beginning fought for what life they had built together. The failure that is their relationship haunts Jack. Apologies feel juvenile at this point.

Dropping the cigarette, Gabriel crushes the butt beneath his boot and closes his eyes, resting his head on the brick facility Jack has cornered him at. He breathes out a black plume of smoke. Defeated, he sighs.

“What do you want, Jack?”

Up close, Gabriel looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. There’s a pallor to his skin, dark lines etched deep under his bloodshot eyes. The rugged look has always been an attractive one for Jack, but this is borderline concerning. Here is a man held together by caffeine and sheer will. For the first time in he doesn't know how long, Jack wants beyond basic necessity. A hot shower, four hours of uninterrupted sleep. When was the last time he stopped and pulled his head out of his ass long enough to see Gabriel as the exhausted fifty-two-year-old man he is and take him to bed? The answer is _too long_.

 _That's an order, Commander Reyes._ It sounds familiar, he can hear himself say It. Probably has under better circumstances.

“Hey,” Gabriel speaks again. A brisk twist of his head to relight and Gabriel has another cigarette occupying his fingers. “You came out of your way to ambush me. What do you want?”

The phrasing mildly irritates him once he realizes it's true: he only sees Gabriel at meetings or during debriefings. Otherwise, it's because he needs something from him. Sex and small favors—especially when it comes to the latter. They're both more likely to give each other what they want and make a mutually beneficial deal when confronted by the old buzz of something that still exists between them. Jack used to think it was just chemistry; now he knows it’s more than that—a strange cocktail mix of want and anger, the urge to needle at one another to get a glance beneath the masks they've made. The Gabriel around base as of late is dodgy and vicious towards him; the strike commander persona he’s adopted is righteous, aims to please, and fills Gabriel with visible resentment. _Compromised_ , he had called him, like it was a dirty word.

“Sorry.” It would be nice if he wasn’t in a time crunch, if the amendments for the speech the UN wants him to review were done, and he could stop for longer than ten minutes to have an important conversation with his estranged husband. “I wanted clarification on the document you sent on the secured line.”

“Did you read it?”

 _Of course I have_ , he wants to snap. _Why else would I be here?_ Instead, he exhales with impatience. “Yes.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

 _Sign it_ , was how Gabriel started the email. Alarms were already sounding in his head at that, thinking Gabriel took the plunge and sent divorce papers. It was with strange relief he read the resignation letter written for him, meant to be by him. All it needed was Strike Commander Morrison’s signature to make it the real deal. _It’s for your own good._

Jack shakes his head. “Why?”

“ _Now_ you decide to ask questions,” Gabriel smirks to himself. “You're so good at taking orders from everyone else lately. Thought I’d give it a shot and you might listen to me.”

“What’s that—”

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

Gabriel is looking for a fight and Jack wants so badly to deny him one. The amused smile nearly breaks his self-control.

“Do you think I can’t do this?” Jack grits his teeth. He’s trying not to raise his voice, but the anxiety running rampant in him is making it difficult. Petras has been keeping him under a microscope for months, and between making excuses for Gabriel’s sometimes brash tactics and the increasing number of Blackwatch mentions in the media, it’s enough to make any man feel like a failure in his position. “Think you can do better, Gabe?”

“If I’d been in your place,” Gabriel crosses his arms, “she wouldn’t be dead.”

During the war, a Titan with a blade attachment once shredded Jack’s body armor and gutted him.

 _This isn’t a sterile environment,_ he remembers thinking deliriously as he stared up into a gray sky. Several sets of hands applied pressure and kept his organs out of the mud. The worst part was the sensation of wrongness that accompanied someone’s fingers in your guts. His stomach twinges, the tissue around the old scar aching. The recall makes him lightheaded, like he’s living it again, but this time Gabriel is the one tearing through him.

The wound of Ana’s death is still fresh, the shame of crawling back to Gabriel too tender. Gabriel invited a grief-stricken Jack into his quarters and held him in his arms, the first kind touch exchanged between them in months, while Jack told him they’d lost Ana. It was wonderful to sleep in sheets that smelled like Gabriel without sleeping with him first, and in the morning he took a chance and kissed his lips—overwhelmed by the gratitude of having Gabriel there, of still being able to do this. Blessedly, Gabriel kissed back. Of course he had to go and ruin it by saying the wrong thing. Gabriel started asking the questions he didn’t get to the night before, and once the puzzle in his mind took shape, he concluded Jack left Ana to die.

Gabriel scratches his beard. He looks anywhere but at Jack as he recants his statement. “I don’t want your job, Jack.”

“But you want me out of here.” Jack clears his throat, dismissing the distress for later. Preferably alone in his office with a bottle of whisky. “Why?”

Gabriel checks their surroundings and moves closer. For a second Jack thinks he’s going to shush him and if he does, Jack can’t guarantee he won’t punch him in the goddamn jaw. His head ducks down. “Something’s coming.”

 _Something’s coming._ The last time Jack was told this was a lifetime ago, before he’d ever heard of SEP, back when Jack was shiny and outrageously yellow blonde and new. He was young and unafraid of the rest of his life, unprepared and naive for what waited. This Jack has stretch marks and thinner hair. He has several drinks every night to help unwind and hopefully sleep. The unknown does not invigorate him like a challenge used to anymore.

Jack steps back and leans against the brick. He swipes Gabriel’s cigarette. The look of shock on his face is priceless when Jack brings it to his lips.

“Of course it is.”

“You think I’m wrong?”

“No, but I wish you were.” It’s the last thing he needs—just when his plate can’t get any fuller, Gabriel drops this bomb. An inconvenient apocalypse, as if there’s any other. Hope or denial, he isn’t sure which, keeps the threat at bay. There are no red lights going off in his head yet, but Gabriel is looking at him expectantly for a response. Jack rubs his face. “I can’t, Gabe. I can’t abandon what we’ve started.”

Gabriel growls, tugging down his beanie. If they weren’t in such an open place, Jack suspects he would be yelling already. He steps away, like he used to when he was trying to gain some composure. A neat little trick from couples therapy. It doesn’t do much for him this time around.

“I can’t believe you’re still telling yourself that. When are you going to fucking admit you did this for you? That this is what you really wanted?” Gabriel sneers. “Do what you will, Jack, but you can’t convince me you did _all this_ for us.”

 _All this_ , he says, as if it is so easy to summarize the heartbreak between them. The dates cancelled and nights alone. He should have fought harder to keep him, to wear his ring during press meetings despite what his PR team said. The look that Gabriel gave him, telling him it was fine and these things happen in a flat voice almost broke his heart. It was the little hurts that ruined them, the rough terrain built over mounds of old scars rendering the earth unviable.

“Gabe—” he wants to say the right thing, but he is just Jack, sincere and overstaying his welcome. Whatever favor he once held has turned into the antithesis of such, the familiarity maintained and tainted by annoyance. Gabriel insists “ _it's never going to be enough, this is never going to be enough_ ”—as though Jack hasn’t heard this spiel from him before. What he hears between the lines is: _you aren’t enough_.

“Ana's dead! You can leave before it gets any worse!”

Jack stops dead in his tracks, blood gone cold. “Do you know something about Talon we don’t?”

“No,” he says neutrally. Jack isn’t convinced for a second.

He turns Gabriel around to face him, finger digging into his chest as he bares his teeth. “You’ve lost your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to accept that as an answer, Commander.”

Gabriel shoves him off, flashing teeth of his own. “Sometimes I can’t even look at you, but fuck, Jack! It doesn’t mean I want anything to happen to you!”

 _Oh_.

No one hears about love lasting forever—only how some love lasts longer than others. They’d had almost twenty good years of it. Five years ago, when they were younger and not stretched so thin, Jack thinks he would have fixed this already. Today, at the end of the day, Jack loves him. Tomorrow, for all tomorrows, Jack will love him. He hasn’t forgotten completely, just for brief periods of time. It was Jack who was pulled under by Overwatch first and blind to Gabriel struggling next to him, and it was Jack who finally got to a place where he could stop and survey all around him and saw it was too late. Gabriel has always been bad with hurt—he lashes out, swinging blind, and is left speechless with the repercussions of his actions. But it doesn’t mean he stops caring.

“If I go,” Jack swallows the lump of emotion building up in his throat, “what happens to you? To us?”

The change is immediate—Gabriel closes in on himself again. The distance returns. “Does it really matter?”

“There’s no way you’re getting me to leave unless you’re safe, too.” Jack drops the cigarette, burned down to a nub, and moves in front of Gabriel. His hands itch to take his.

Gabriel shuts his eyes in a grimace. “For once in your goddamn life... stand down. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

The wind shifts the leaves of the trees above them. The ominous wording is enough that Jack gives in to his impulses. He reaches out, touching Gabriel’s shoulder and squeezes. The contact doesn’t last for more than a few seconds—Gabriel jerks away, shoving his hands into his hoodie’s pockets. Jack expects that to be that, for Gabriel to walk out, but he chuckles instead.

“You know, I always understood it was me going with you, or you going alone. That night Ana told us they wanted you as strike commander.” He scans the area, from the empty dumpsters that accompanied the only spot smoking wasn’t prohibited on base, to the autumn trees with light filtering through. “Never gave myself a choice— _you_ never gave me a choice.”

The confession has Jack confused. “You had options. Those were your decisions to make.”

“No,” Gabriel snaps, “you chose Overwatch and I was always— _always—_ going to choose you. I couldn’t leave.”

It would be callous to say if he had known, neither would be in this situation.

“And you want me to abandon you now?”

Gabriel scoffs. “Haven’t you already?”

This time when he grabs Gabriel, it is without comfort and compassion. This time, Gabriel can’t pull back.

“Stop walking away from me and tell me what’s going on!” He’s in his face, inches away with no desire to kiss him—maybe just knock some sense into him instead. The riddles, the tests Gabriel puts him through where Jack consistently disappoints—it’s enough. In this moment, he’s had enough. “Tell me what the fuck you think is happening so we can fix it!”

“Oh, Jack.” Gabriel’s eyes drift to where Jack is clutching him, bored and at ease. “You never wanted to know before. You just wanted results.”

“I trusted you!”

“And you don’t anymore.” It isn’t a question.

Jack breathes, trying to collect himself. “I just need to know what’s going on with you.” _And us_ , he wants to add. He loosens his grip.“You used to let me help. I still can.”

“Not from where you’re standing, Indy.” Gabriel actually looks apologetic as he puts more space between them, moving from the building. “Leave. It’s for your own good.”

“That’s not good enough for me, Gabe.” Jack is speaking to his back now, Gabriel walking westward—the setting sun casting long shadows behind him. There is a sigh, followed by a bitter remark.

“ _It never is_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choo choo!! Here comes the pain train!!! :((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!!! For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Bright as a star be the light  
>  Strobing down on me  
> Suddenly I was free  
> Let me go on these_
> 
> _Show I can cough I can choke  
>  On this kind of smoke  
> Off went the switch_
> 
> _Love is soft  
>  Love's a fucking bitch_
> 
> _Do I really need  
>  Another habit like you  
> I really need  
> Do you need me too  
> I believe   
> ~~It's gonna leave me blue~~  
>  It's gonna feel like new  
> [[x](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTvqMfvVWYQ)]_

A new pattern is established. It isn’t like it was with Tuesday card night—there are no such strange mercies between them now.

Confrontations between Talon and Overwatch proceed with Jack accessing the new Overwatch channels and debating the likelihood of his mercenary showing up. Ana tries to talk him out of it,  _try_ being the operative word, but follows him anyway when he disregards her sound advice—if only to clean up his mess. No matter what happens, no matter the chaos, Reaper and the soldier are drawn to each other. Jack allows himself to be led away from the main event They rendezvous to another room, another level, behind locked doors, outdoors—anywhere that grants them privacy as they tear into each other in a convincing way. The shadows coalesce into an outline so recognizable that Jack is left near boneless with relief. The rush of a first kiss—the first _good_ kiss that brings all the blood to your face and makes your palms sweat—is the only way Jack can describe the feeling he gets every time Reaper shows up to a fray. It is adrenaline and anxiety, a want with faceless expectations.

Once, Ana asked how he expected things to end if they continued like this. The truth is Jack isn’t sure. The Omnic War was supposed to be a thing left in history books, yet people talk as if another is expected on the horizon, and Jack still hasn’t secured a place for himself in this life. Soldier, then figurehead for peace. Vigilante and soldier again. If he has to choose what his path is meant to be, he can’t. The good moments where he’s thought  _this is what it all was for_ are spread out across years, the scenes crisp in his mind: the bombed out hospital where he helped deliver a baby, LA during Pride shortly after the Crisis. In all of these snapshots, Gabriel is within arm’s reach. He is slapping an exhausted Jack on the back in lieu of a “ _job well done_ ”, he is spinning a confused Jack in his arms and dipping him seconds before Ana takes a picture as the parade goes on without them.

All he knows is he isn’t ready to surrender. Wherever this takes them, he will be dragged bloody and beaten before it all ends if he must. Gabriel has made it all too clear that he doesn’t want Jack around as he plays double-agent with Talon, but now that Jack’s figured out what his endgame is, he won’t let Gabriel be alone again.

Gabriel’s mask is cracked thanks to a well-timed punch, his eyes glowing unnaturally from the eye sockets. The break is large enough that his gray skin is visible as it shifts in waves—patches of brown so close in warmth and color of a live man pass and fade. Swiping at the mouth of his mask, a substance too black to be blood is smeared on the back of his gauntlet. Whatever it is, it causes the dead man to snicker. The laugh is cold and drawn out, thanks partially to whatever modifier or state Gabriel’s vocal cords are in. The only familiar thing about it is how he throws his head back like he used to, obscuring his face as it breaks out into joy. Luckily the mask does the majority of that for him now.

“Happy you got me all to yourself?” Jack asks, and the tinny laughter stops.

Gabriel tsks, shotguns in hand as his right arm reaches back and rests over his shoulder, successfully pointing the barrel away from Jack. His left remains down by his side. “You wish.”

 _God_ , he thinks miserably. _I do_.

Longing in this line of work is as distracting as a disease, and it’s only getting worse. When they don’t lose control of their tempers and start yelling old accusations about who fucked up first, their edges almost align into something that makes sense. Lately, there’s been more amicable banter. Jack doesn’t mull over his words, doesn’t have to pull his punches, and it feels good, like he’s finally shaken off something heavy and is free. Intel is exchanged in cryptic ways as if to maintain the facade they’re not helping one another. They’re on the verge of something, he and Gabriel, something that Jack thinks he can see just the bare shape of. It’s with a startling drop in his gut that Jack comes to terms with an answer to the question Ana has been asking since Cairo. If there was just a little more clarity on what he meant to Gabriel—any sort of small sign aside from the fact he hasn’t been killed—Jack might also have a better sense of whether or not reconciliation is even possible between them anymore.

Right before Zurich went up in flames, Jack never asked the important questions—questions like “do you miss me?”, “do you still care?”, or “do you want to fix this?” Instead he told himself to wait for Gabriel to make the first move, for Gabriel to come back even after Jack had left him to his own devices. There was no getting past Gabriel’s defenses, not unless he permitted it, and Jack sees how he relied on this. He lived in the quiet tension, a passenger during the quick flings and soft “thanks” rewarded after as he waited for Gabriel to say something, anything, one more time. The image of pressing his fingers to Gabriel’s temples comes to mind more often than not lately, of digging blunt nails into his flesh as if to pry him open and see if his terrible, beautiful mind works the same as it used to. If things are to change, Jack knows what he has to do: he has to show his hand or die stubborn and alone, his dignity intact.

Honestly, if it was an option, he’d rather have his teeth pulled. Communication had never been part of their dynamic before.

“I think,” Jack starts slowly, testing the weight of the words on his tongue, “we should talk.”

Beneath his mask, Jack would bet his life that Gabriel is comically unconvinced. Hell, even Jack is unsure he can get through this civilly.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” Gabriel answers stiffly, squaring himself up and dropping his shotguns as he attempts to loom over Jack, as if they aren’t the same height. As if he could be intimidating. Jack wants to snort. He can’t bring himself to think of Reaper as a real threat, not since finding out who was beneath the mask. All he can think about are the dozens of Halloween parties, of the album Mr. Reyes kept of his child’s musical theatre days in high school. _A fine actor_ , he’d bragged once. A fine actor, Jack would have to agree, looking at him now, because at the end of the mission when Gabriel goes elsewhere to lay down his head, he is still Jack’s husband, all dressed for an act.

“Guess that makes two of us,” he backsteps on reflex. It’s a blatant lie and Gabriel knows. He sighs, a sound reverberated and made louder by the bone mask. Jack expects him to drop the conversation and summon his shotguns. He doesn’t.

“Always full of shit,” Gabriel taunts, humorless and mean. Jack bites, takes the bait and barrels towards him, launching himself into Gabriel’s chest and aiming to slam them both to the ground. Gabriel should’ve taken the brunt of it— _should have_ —but the sneaky fuck wraiths his way out of Jack’s arms just in time for Jack to greet the wet alley cement with his face. His visor cracks, error messages popping up into his view. He growls at the inconvenience as blood drips down his scraped chin and fucked up nose.

The second attempt to bring Gabriel down is more successful. It’s a dirty move, kicking out his bad knee, but the desired effect is instantaneous and he drops, clutching his right leg and swearing all the way down to the ground. It’s petty, but Jack is pleased to have Gabriel no longer looking down on him.

“Thought you were supposed to know my every move.”

“You’re a nasty son of a bitch, you know that?” Gabriel is groaning, but Jack swears he hears a smile in the way he says it without too much venom. No argument there—he has gotten crueler, his temper gone unchecked until Ana came back. In retrospect, the recent beat down in Dorado should have been his first indicator. She’s tried to talk to him about cutting losses, of approaching things with her level-headedness, but he isn’t afraid of the pain anymore. War taught him how to endure and now enduring is all Jack can do as opposed to living.

“Takes one to know one,” he shrugs, spitting out the blood that’s started to seep between his lips and coat his tongue. It’s a pointless action—as soon as the words leave his mouth, Gabriel is elbowing him in the jaw, red spraying from his lips. He runs his tongue over his teeth—nothing missing or knocked loose. Generous, but not enough. Jack keeps talking. “That all?”

Now Gabriel is angry—really angry—as he clambors up on Jack, straddling him. A hit to the temple further damages the visor—probably beyond repair, he mourns, wondering how he’ll get a replacement. Maybe Ana will surprise him and have connections, though he doubts she’ll be eager to encourage Jack’s habit of recklessness. Another wide swing forces his neck to twist suddenly, the strain making him gasp. The unnecessary spikes on Gabriel’s fist slice into Jack’s cheek, but all Jack can focus on is the familiarity of Gabriel’s solid weight. He squeezes the meat of Gabriel’s thigh with one hand as a reflex, all muscle memory, and is gawked at. Gabriel shakes off his surprise by ripping off Jack’s visor entirely, the improper disconnection sending a jolt of electrical white noise and pain through his brain. Without aid, Jack does his best to stare down the man above him, but isn’t sure where to look. Everything appears dark and muddy, drenched in alley shadows.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gabriel hisses.

Of all the things Jack expected him to say, this wasn’t one. “Gonna need to be more specific.”

He rips Jack’s hand off and practically jumps off him. A minute moment of hesitation passes. Jack can feel his stare. “What happened to you—”

 _Oh_ , he realizes. This is the first time Gabriel has seen his face in six years. He’d been told by Ana and Angela that the damage done to his eyes during the blast left no physical signs of injury. The diagonal scars were his most notable feature, which he knew. A blind man could feel that, he’d joked, running his fingers over his face.

“You already know, Gabe.”

“Not the scars, Jack.” Could Gabriel see, then, how inside he was nothing but a cold fire barely burning? He hopes not, nothing that transparent. He’s been a bad liar since he was a kid, shit at covering up the heart on his sleeve, but he’s never felt so vulnerable and small. Love didn’t do this—only fear and shame could. Pinned and examined, like a bug, by a man who knew his inner workings so well he could break him apart. Jack can’t handle that right now. He might not ever get up again.

“If you’re going to hit me some more, I’d rather if you got on with it.”

Gabriel leans back. “What happened to talking?”

Jack makes a move, as if he could shake off the disarming gaze. Gabriel grabs him by his jacket’s collar, lifting his entire body off the ground and yanking Jack closer.

It’s easier to focus on Gabriel when he’s near like this. A red eye set in a black sclera dissects him. “Does this make you feel better?” If it did, he should have recommended Gabriel lay into him _ages_ ago.

Gabriel bristles. That’ll be a _no_.

There are times where Jack wonders if Gabriel’s apparent hatred for him is for show as well, theatrics for anyone who might be watching. Gabriel is not such an immovable object and reminds Jack of this on occasion, even now. He releases Jack, who steps to the nearby dumpster to put sufficient distance between them. He’s careful and calculated with his body language, making no gesture to suggest there will be retaliation. Gabriel remains several feet away, sulking and awkward, as if debating whether or not to make an exit. Jack’s chest aches and he sighs.

“Gabe.”

Smoke wafts off him in thick plumes. “Don’t.”

Jack is tired, his headache getting worse as he hopes it isn’t anything serious. Just in case, he drops a canister and beckons Gabriel closer to the yellow light. Gabriel aborts halfway and tells him he doesn’t need it. Jack tells him he doesn’t give a shit so Gabriel stays. It works.

“Wish we’d had these years ago,” he says conversationally, feeling nostalgic. Maybe he can do this—talk about the past, what’s already set in stone.

“What do you want, Jack?” The question is punctuated with a sharp, strained exhale. “What is this?”

The question throws him through a loop. “I don’t know.” Jack shrugs before bowing his head, eyes closed as he massages his temples. It’s no relief for the pain in his head. “Regret, I guess.”

“It’s too late to change anything.” Gabriel almost sounds disappointed.

“Seems so.”

Once again, they’re at an impasse. It feels like tug of war, and with Gabriel that means he might never win. Winning, which would be working with his two closest friends again. Those two at his side meant anything might be accomplished. And when the day is done, there will always be more work to propel him forward. A mission is the only thing that stops him from growing still by looking back to reminiscence. Maybe one day, Jack can really move on—living out whatever remains of this abnormal life. It won’t be a future without Gabriel. Anything less would be a loss in his book—but would it be a loss in Gabriel’s? What does it look like where Gabriel wins and gets his way?

He wishes he could ask what Gabriel wants as easily as Ana asks him. Where does Gabriel want to lie at the end of the day? A lifetime of looking in the same direction wasn’t meant to be so easily forgotten, despite what Gabriel thinks. Make a difference, protect the ones they love, and now avenge what has been taken. Their goals bring them together, time and time again.

 _Or maybe you’re just senile and hopeless_ , a voice in the back of his head offers. Jack grumbles and fishes out a pack of crushed cigarettes from inside his jacket pocket. He takes one, raises the pack towards Gabriel, and is waved off. Russian roulette, he remembers, chuckles to himself, and closes his eyes. The pressure in his head lessens.

“Can I say something?” Jack asks, opening an eye to peek at Gabriel.

He gestures for Jack to go ahead. “Free country.”

“For some.”

“For some,” Gabriel agrees.

Jack scratches his head in the silence that follows. He takes his time before going ahead. “I still don’t believe you’re the bad guy, Gabe.”

Gabriel leans against the dumpster. “You’ve always been an idealistic moron, thinking you can fix everything.” _But you can’t,_ he’d said once during a fight _. The great Jack Morrison can’t fix anything._

“Sounds right.” He pauses, thinking he won’t have the guts to say it, but then he chides himself. _Don’t be a coward_. ”What are we doing?”

This seems to jar Gabriel, owl mask turning in his direction. Not the response he was waiting for, then. “What?”

“You always let me go,” Jack explains. “Never thought you were one to make the same mistake twice.”

It feels harmless to ask, but Gabriel huffs and extends a hand. Jack stares, wondering if he means to have Jack take it when—no, he’s shaking his head and Jack is thrown through a loop until he pats himself down and sure enough, Gabriel snatches the pack when Jack offers again. He shakes the box, takes a cigarette, puts his hand down expectantly to get a lighter in return for the box, and hands that back too. He lights up, turned away as he inhales, and Jack thinks curiosity is going to kill him. He hasn’t seen Gabriel’s face since their fight in Zurich. Ana told him not to cling to pipe dreams—as obscure and ominous as that sounds. He gazes at his inoperable visor mournfully.

“Sorry,” he apologizes roughly and Jack doesn’t understand what for. “Bad habit.”

Jack knows bad habits. Like cancer, Jack can’t think of anyone who has ever kept their happiness once they came into contact with him. Ana and Fareeha, Reinhardt and his retirement. Tracer, Winston, and all the operatives to come who will tangle themselves up in the new Overwatch and be left unable to walk away, fooled by an image and ideal Strike Commander Morrison instilled in decent people. He pulled all of them into this because he couldn’t leave. He dragged these people alongside him. It doesn’t matter how he loved them; he still took them over the edge, beyond return, and left. He should have kept to himself.

 _Not knowing me would have saved you a lot of pain_ , he thinks as he stares at Gabriel’s back. Believing this, he still can’t regret inserting himself into Gabriel’s life. The hopeless looks and the worst sex Jack has ever had, which improved as most determined and practiced things do. Staying on the comms minutes after everyone left just to hear Gabriel’s voice. Jack clutches onto old “I love you’s” too hard and has been holding on for too long. Sentimental moron fits him to a tee.

 _Before I thought there was more good than bad with us_ , Jack could say. _I thought at the end of the day, what we couldn’t settle could be put to bed_. Gabriel could tell him “that’s not how it works” or call him a fool. Nostalgia has made him into one without a doubt. The Gabriel here could say these things instead of the one in his head—but Jack has to speak first.

He clears his throat. “Nobody’s perfect.”

It earns a snort from Gabriel, who makes a motion like he’s going to turn and face him. His head makes an abortive, jerking motion, revealing the outline of what appears to be his mask pushed up, lips and goatee exposed so as not to inhibit smoking. Any further details are lost to Jack’s poor sight.

“Nobody’s perfect,” he repeats. “Next you’ll tell me we all make mistakes and that the sky is blue.”

Jack lets out a soft, agreeable hum and they remain like this for some time. Once it’s clear that Jack isn’t going to respond, Gabriel breaks the stillness by stomping out his cigarette butt beneath his boot. Silently Jack hands him another and Gabriel moves in front of him to take it, staring at it between his fingers. It’s too dark under his hood to see much detail, but Jack notices Gabriel hasn’t pulled down his mask. It seems his beard and mustache are in the same obsessively maintained shape as the day Jack met him.

Following his companion’s stare down to the mouth of the alley, Jack comes to realize what Gabriel must have just figured out: the sound of ammunition has died down, the chaos quelled. Something beeps—it isn’t his earpiece, so the incoming message must be for his companion. Apparently, the need to make sure their little catch-up session isn’t disturbed is mutual as Gabriel turns his comm on and gives out a series of short, guff responses. After, he remains.

This is new.

“I thought I quit smoking.” Gabriel shuffles awkwardly, mumbling what sounds like, “I always do. I always think 'this is my last one.’” _I miss it,_ lingers between them, so palpable that Jack can hear it in Gabriel’s broken voice.

The confession and the way it lights up Jack’s brain is too bright, forcing him to look away. God, he used to be a different type of fool, charging headfirst without a thought. There’s nothing Jack can say to express how he wants things to go. There’s nothing concise about it other than not wanting it to end.

“When are you going to stop?”

Gabriel pauses, tilting his head. “What?”

Jack’s silence is all the hint he needs. Gabriel’s claws drum against the leather of his long coat for a beat before inhaling sharply and sighing, as if dealing with a petulant child. “When it’s over, Jack.”

“Let me help.” Neither were cut out for diplomacy and politics, but blood was another thing. Jack rubs his own face, half-pleading. “I owe you.”

“Yeah. You do.” There’s no malice, Gabriel’s tone whimsical and contemplative. Their history wasn’t all that bad, Jack thinks. Perhaps the good made the worst worth it. If not, Jack doubts they’d be talking at all. “Too bad this isn’t any place for Strike Commander Morrison.”

Ah, that excuse again. Acting as if he really believed Jack’s hands were as scrubbed clean as his role in the Overwatch blues needed him to be. Gabriel knew the truth. There was a time where both were willing to do anything to feed the beast of their ambitions, everything except throw each other to the wolves. Instead, Jack did one worse: treating Gabriel like he was in the way, when really next to Jack was where he was meant to be.

Jack counts the remaining cigarettes. Only two left.

“Don’t be stupid and give up everything for Overwatch, Gabe.” He breathes in deeply and holds the smoke in his lungs. “You’re supposed to be the smart one.”

“I’m not doing this for Overwatch. I’m doing this for what they took from us.”

 _Us_. For a second, it’s endearing to hear, one of the sweetest things Gabriel has given his heavy heart, but then the reality of the situation settles and that means confronting the truth: the thing he poured his entire life into ended his and Gabriel’s. It’s no one’s fault but his own.

“Me too,” he confesses, quietly and defeated. “I was wrong and I lost—”

“Happens to the best of us,” Gabriel brushes off the admission sharply, clearly putting an end to the conversation. He pulls his hood back up and stomps out his unfinished cigarette. “Said so yourself. ‘ _No one’s perfect_.’”

At what appears to be a dismissal, Jack is convinced he could do it. He could apologize for all the years of affliction, for the old anger that has become him. The insight that comes from reflection over time has helped Jack see he and Overwatch started with good intentions, but were always doomed to fail. He should have recognized willing to die for Gabriel was easy, that it was fighting for him that would be the hardest part. He should have asked Gabriel the right questions. He should have seen how he wasn’t the only one who was drowning.

“Gabe.”

The name fails to summon him to Jack’s side, but he does pause in the dark. His hood shifts as if he’s looking in Jack’s direction.

“You got me if you need me.”

There are no guarantees for untroubled endings and Jack doesn’t expect one; he’s had too many happy middles to be unsatisfied, yet here he wants to ask for one more or else be doomed as the echo of a former person. There’s no promise Jack and Gabriel could ever make each other happy again, but hearing Gabriel is alive is the best damn thing that’s ever happened to him and that has to count for something. If only he could act like it.

All that remains in Gabriel’s place are the remnants of black smoke wisping away and an audible smirk.

“Thanks, Indy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL friends, that's it for this fic!! Thank you for reading--I really appreciate everyone who took the time to read, comment, and give kudos. When my imposter syndrome was at its worst, it was you folk who helped me to continue posting.
> 
> I hope to write more for this little universe I've created. ~~A decent amount of it is PWP but y'know. Some peeps are into that.~~ Beyond that, I have so many WIPs for this wonderful pairing. I hope I can stay strong, believe in myself, and write!!
> 
> For anyone who is interested, I also draw these old fools quite often! Find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/airafleeza) and [tumblr](http://airafleeza.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Thank you again. <3


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